


Eureka

by orphan_account



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - High School, Army, Flashbacks, Herc and Stacker own a diner together, Insomnia, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Yancy is still dead, farmer!Raleigh, teacher!Tendo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-04 22:02:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4154622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>The memory of a closed coffin and a bomber jacket laid out under an American flag doesn't overwhelm him, though, and even as he catches his breath and blinks back tears, he thinks </em>this is progress<em>. His doctors would be proud. </em></p><p>  <em>Progress means learning how to function as a member of society.  Progress means not chasing the memory of the first time he'd driven the same truck, with Yancy in the passenger seat telling him to ease off the gas.</em></p><p> </p><p>  <em>Progress, he thinks, feels a lot like betrayal, some days.</em></p><p> </p><p>Or the one where Raleigh's a farmer with problems sleeping, Chuck's a high school student with military aspirations, and in between breakfasts at Herc and Stacker's diner, the two of them <em>stumble</em> into love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scratched CDs and Broken Records

The air is thick and oppressive, and there's sand gritting between Raleigh's teeth, but the sensation is _off_ in the same way that Yancy's laugh, when it reaches his ears, is. Sometimes, he thinks, it's because he's relived the memory too many times and scratched the surface of it, like scratching a CD by playing it too many times, and sometimes he thinks it's his body's way of reminding him that this isn't real, that there's nothing he can do. That still doesn't stop him from watching Yancy's face as he smiles – he still remembers when, once, he had looked up and hadn't been able to remember what hi brother had looked like.

Yancy reaches over and claps him hard on the shoulder, congratulating him on something. Raleigh can't remember what. The memories of his senses are too overwhelming, too visceral, even if they're wrong and gritty, and he's too caught up in seeing his brother again to think about what's led up to this, and what comes after. 

“Specialist Becket!”

Both Raleigh and Yancy look up, but now he can't ignore what's going to happen. Their sergeant is barking out orders, and he can hear them as sort of a buzz in the back of his mind, but now he's focused on trying to get three little words out. Three words to save his brother's life. That's all.

“Yancy! Get...”

The shot comes before he can finish, like it always does, and Yancy collapses, pink spray exploding from the back of his head. Later, Raleigh will wipe his mouth and his hand will come away red, and he'll spend the better part of an hour bent over the sand, crying and dry-heaving. No, though, all he can do is scream his brother's name as another member of their squad drags him to the ground.

“Yancy!”

There's gunfire all around him, but all he can hear is Yancy's last laugh, feel his hand on his shoulder. He sees him fall again, and he screams.

“ _Yancy!_ ”

* * *

Raleigh's an old hand at rolling out of bed and stumbling to the toilet to cough up bile. His doctor's given him pills for the nausea, and pulls for the insomnia, and pills for the way he wakes up screaming his brother's name (they say it's PTSD, but they also said he'd get better, so Raleigh's not sure he trusts them), but all the pills do is make him stay asleep and dream over and over and over again.

Raleigh will gladly take throwing up over turning the scratched CD of his memories into a broken record.

He wipes the back of his hand over his mouth, feeling physically thankful when it doesn't come away stained with blood. That's happened before; he's passed out in the bathroom and dreamed that he was throwing up Yancy's blood. Shuddering, he hauls himself to his feet and glances at the time.

3:02 am. He's managed a whole four hours of sleep, which is more that he usually gets. His next glance is at the mirror, though he looks away before he can focus too much on what he sees there. The dark circles under his eyes are too heavy, and his face is drawn, mouth pinched tightly and cheeks pale, but four hours is good. Four hours means that he won't be yawning too badly or squinting over the menu at breakfast, trying to make the words stop dancing on the page like so many little dust motes. Four hours means he's functioning, and as he drags on a pair of well-worn jeans, he purposefully doesn't think about how Yancy would never have been able to function for a day on the amount of sleep that Raleigh gets in a week.

Raleigh likes to joke that the reason he gets up as early as he does is so that he can work, even though the reality of the situation is that the farm he owns really runs itself. He's hired two high school kids, and what they don't do, he has mostly automated. They pick ripe produce, and plant, and he's taught one of them to drive the tractor so she can plow. Raleigh delivers to local restaurants, and spends a lot of time tilling the ground by hand, just so he has something to do.

It's still dark and cold outside, and Raleigh knows from experience that working up a sweat in these conditions puts him on the fast track to a cold he can't shake. So, instead of going outside, he makes his way into the kitchen and turns on the coffee pot, before crossing another day off the calendar. February's gone, and Raleigh's stomach does a funny little turn as he flips the calendar to March. There's no February 29th this year, and while part of him is glad that he doesn't have a day to mourn, he also feels a little guilty for it.

 _Miss you, Yance_ , he thinks.

* * *

By the time Raleigh's alarm goes off at five, he's worked up a sweat inside the house. Multiple sets of pull-ups, push-ups, and lunges have him just the right amount of sore, so he showers quickly, and when he gets dressed again he very nearly flashes back to a funeral and a closed coffin and a bomber jacket laid out under an American flag, almost identical to the one he's tugging on. The memory doesn't overwhelm him, though, and even as he catches his breath and blinks back tears, he thinks _this is progress_. His doctors would be proud. 

Progress means learning how to function as a member of society, so he gets in his truck, after loading up a few crates of yesterday's pickings, and drives into town. Progress means not chasing the memory of the first time he'd driven the same truck, with Yancy in the passenger seat telling him to ease off the gas, and making himself think about the repairs that needed to be made to the barn.

Progress, he thinks, feels a lot like betrayal, some days.

There's a place in town that's the only restaurant Raleigh frequents with any kind of regularity. It's owned by two veterans, and Raleigh owes them a lot, because when he'd arrived in the tiny Nebraska town, fresh out of the Army, still actively mourning his brother and more than a little lost as to what he was going to _do_ with his life, they'd taken him under their collective wing. The farm Raleigh now owns belonged to Herc, originally, and even though he's _better_ now, Eureka is still his safe place.

Despite their protests, Raleigh doesn't charge Herc and Stacker for the fresh produce he delivers. In retaliation, they don't allow him to pay for meals, and as a result, Raleigh's fallen a little too easily into the habit of getting breakfast there every morning. No one complains, though, and Raleigh finds that Eureka is one of the few places where he can actually relax enough to crack a smile. Going there for breakfast feels more like going home than anything else, and while it's something that Raleigh really hasn't examined, and doesn't _want_ to examine, he acknowledges it and allows himself to indulge, if only a little.

Eureka isn't quite busy yet when he arrives at 5:30, but Herc's Land Rover is parked outside, along with his kid's motorcycle and one other car that Raleigh doesn't recognize. It's sleek and shiny and new, so Raleigh's first guess in an out-of-towner, which isn't exactly unusual – Eureka is the first restaurant off the highway exit, a prime location for attracting road-trippers.

By the time Raleigh gets out of the truck, Herc's walking outside, drying his hands on a towel. He doesn't smile at Raleigh, but he nods and claps him on the back before nodding at the crate. “What'd'ya bring me today, Becket?”

It's the same question Herc asks him every morning, which makes falling into the pattern much easier. It's familiar, and familiarity has only recently started being comforting again, and maybe Herc knows that. Raleigh suspects that Herc knows that, but he doesn't mention it. He doesn't want the greetings and the casual hands on his back or shoulder to stop.

“Arugula,” Raleigh answers, pulling the first crate out of the truck and carrying it over to the back door. He kicks it open as Herc grabs the second crate, and then props it open with the convenient rock he'd brought down for this very purpose. “Cauliflower, though I know Stacker hates it. That stir fry you made last week was too delicious to pass up having again.”

Herc makes an amused noise, and Raleigh grins, briefly, before the man claps him on the back again and gently shoves him in the direction of the dining area, out of the kitchen. “I'll see what I can whip up, Ranger.”

Raleigh's given up trying to tell Herc that he never actually made Ranger, because every time he mentions it, Herc just nods along like he's listening, and then responds with something along the lines of, “Are you going to finish your coffee, Ranger?” At this point, it just makes Raleigh smile a little and duck his head in embarrassment, because the affection that's seeped into Herc's voice over the years is still something that Raleigh's pretty unused to. Not many people are all that affectionate to vets – respectful, sure, and deferential, definitely, but Raleigh can count on one hand all the times he's been touched in the last week, and every time has been Herc Hansen clapping him on the back or shoulder. 

He seats himself at the counter just in time to see a ginger head disappear into the back. That's Herc's kid, Charlie or something like that, and for a moment, Raleigh wonders how the hell he manages to work opening shift on a school day. He remembers being a teenager – sleep, followed by food, had been his two biggest concerns, followed immediately by maybe getting laid. Yancy hadn't let him work til he was seventeen, to make sure he got to live out his childhood.

For a moment, Raleigh misses his brother so much that his chest aches with it, but then Herc puts a cup of coffee in front of him and says, “That stir fry will be out in a few, Ranger,” and everything's a little more okay. Not totally okay, because he's pretty sure that he's never going to be totally okay again, but okay enough that he can crack a smile, sometimes.

He turns his head to find the out-of-towner, but the only other person in the diner is Tendo Choi, the high school computer science teacher. Raleigh raises an eyebrow just as Tendo glances over at him, and for a moment, Raleigh is blinded by the wattage of Tendo's smile. The guy is always irrationally happy, Raleigh's noticed, though he supposes that if he had a wife and a baby and a brand new car, he'd be pretty fucking happy, too. He regrets the thought as soon as he's done thinking it, though, because he's not the type to begrudge other people their happiness, and he's pretty sure, too, that all of those things wouldn't do shit for his current state of mind. But then Tendo's scooting down the counter until he's in the seat next to Raleigh, and he's still smiling that stupid smile, and maybe it's contagious or maybe Raleigh's too used to reflecting back at people what they want to see.

Either way, he smiles back, taking a sip of his coffee as Tendo says, “Becket! Long time no see, man.”

Tendo doesn't ask how he's doing, and Raleigh loves him a little for it. He hates lying about that. “Saw your new wheels,” he says, jerking his head in the direction of the parking lot. “Very nice. Your patent go through, then?”

Tendo's face kind of lights up a bit more, even though Raleigh would have said that impossible a moment ago, and he starts talking about... well, Raleigh's not entirely sure. It's tech-talk, and _why_ Tendo teaches high school when he's being contacted by the DoD about whatever his mind-melding invention is called, Raleigh'll never know, but it makes the guy happy, apparently.

“...which reminds me, Becket, you free this Friday afternoon?”

It's an abrupt change in topic, so Raleigh figures he can be forgiven for not answering for a moment. It takes Tendo prompting him with a gentle, patient, “Raleigh?” for him to catch up, and he nods, wondering, a little absently, where Herc is with his stir fry.

“Sure,” he says, because he trusts Tendo not to try to make him agree to anything he really doesn't want to do, even if he is free.

“Great!” Tendo's grin is bright, and he rubs his hands together, which makes Raleigh wonder exactly what he's getting himself into. “So we're going a kind of career fair thing at the school, and because you actually employ two on the high school kids, I thought I'd ask if you wanted to set up a booth on Friday and talk to kids about small business ownership.”

Tendo pauses, and Raleigh turns to see Herc setting a plate down on the counter in front of him. It's steaming and smells abso-fucking-lutely delicious, and Raleigh feels his mouth water. “Thank, Herc,” he says, and the man grunts something in reply before topping off his cup and returning to the kitchen.

Raleigh takes a moment to take a bit and savor it, and he knows Tendo won't mind, because he knows just how good Eureka's food is. After the moment, though, he glances over and shrugs.

“Don't know how interesting it would be. I mean, I'm not really looking to hire anyone other than Kaidonovsky and his girlfriend, what's her name. Shasha.” He pauses, taking a sip of his coffee. “And I don't think that many kids are gonna be interested in...” He trails off, and then fixes Tendo with a look. “You got a space to fill, don't you?”

Tendo winces. “Guilty as charged. It's all right, though. I haven't talked to the Gages yet. I'll just...”

“Yeah, I'll do it.”

Tendo's jaw snaps shut with a sound that makes Raleigh cringe, and the guy grins, adjusting his bow tie happily. “Awesome, man! I owe you one, seriously.”

“Don't worry about it,” Raleigh says, because that's what you say. “What time? And do I need to bring anything, or...?”

“I'll send you an email,” Tendo says, and then he's out the door, and Raleigh wonders, again, what Tendo's doing in a town like this. He's glad the guy's here, though, because Tendo's one of the people that makes being alive a little more bearable.

And, now, he's gonna go talk to some high-schoolers about how to put their lives together when his own hasn't been put together in two years. The hell is he going to say?

_Don't join the Army, kids. People die._

Yeah. That's fucking brilliant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has a [Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/prisoner1102/playlist/6l9lAApZPJDfgDb5xYlXfQ)! It's collaborative, so if any of you wonderful people stumble across a song that goes with the fic, feel free to add it.


	2. Sham Shield

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief author's note: this chapter contains some opinions about the military that are not necessarily my opinions. I hold a deep respect for the men and women who risk their lives to keep this country safe. That said, Raleigh is a veteran who lost someone very dear to him while serving in the military, and his views are different because of that.

The fair is everything Raleigh remembers _not_ attending as a high school senior. He remembers never thinking about having a career, just a job, hopefully, and that had been the extent of his planning. He definitely hadn't been one of the students who showed up early to take stock of what was available and make up a game plan.

More students start to trickle into the gym as Raleigh's setting up his booth. He's got his back to the booth across from him, and maybe it's a little bit on purpose, because while he doesn't blame the Army for what happened to his brother (that blame lies squarely on himself), he doesn't think they're exactly faultless, either, and seeing the two recruiters standing there in their dress uniforms is something he's not entirely sure how to deal with.

His own booth is simple, focusing more on the aspects of starting a business rather than the fact that the example business is a farm. He doesn't mind that, understands, for the most part, that working on a farm isn't something most kids aspire to do. Because of that, he's not entirely sure how helpful he's going to be, or what kind of questions he's going to be able to answer, but Tendo seemed happy enough that he had agreed, so there's that. And honestly, he doesn't mind talking to teenagers for a couple of hours about the perks of owning your own business.

Around 10am, the trickle of students becomes a more steady stream, and Raleigh's distracted from the Army booth, which is nice. A few of the seniors even seem legitimately interested, and Raleigh finds himself smiling, for real, for the first time in a long time. And it certainly doesn't hurt that the two recruiters across from him are, for all intents and purposes, just sitting on their hands. It's a vindictive pleasure, and Raleigh knows that, but he can't help but feel a little happier, more relieved, every time someone walks by without giving the booth a second glance.

It's like that for a couple of hours. Raleigh hands out the business cards that Tendo had made for him and tells a few of the kids to get in contact with him if they do end up wanting a job, because he's making enough money to support one or two more workers, between the income from the farm and his pension. Though, really, that shouldn't be making him the kind of money it is.

He figures it has something to do with Herc and Stacker being huge advocates for him. One day, he'll figure out how to thank them properly. 

It's around two when the number of students entering the gym starts to decrease again. Raleigh's sketching out an idea foe a greenhouse he wants to build on the edge of the property and thinking about starting to pack up when he hears a pair of voices, mid-conversation, enter the gym.

“...why you're dragging me here. It's not going to do a whole lot of good, is it?” That was a guy's voice, and it was followed closely by a girl's, and she sounded just as exasperated as him.

“I want you to look at your options. You have a good mind, and I do not understand why you do not want to put it to use.”

The pair rounds the corner, and Raleigh looks up. There are two kids (kids, he stays, like he isn't only five years older than them), a girl and a guy, and while she looks interested in what's going on with the booths, he doesn't. Raleigh sympathizes. He's not sure why they make these kids decide what the hell they're going to do with the rest of their lives at this age, because at 18, no one is thinking about the future. 

He shakes himself a little, and smiles at the girl when she looks his way and waves. She's a little familiar, the both of them are, actually, but Raleigh's can't place where he's seen them before. It's a small town, but there are a good few thousand people, and he's been running at less than full-capacity since he moved, so he doesn't feel terrible about not recognizing the kids right away.

The girl looks like she wants to come over, but her friend grabs her hand and drags her to the Army booth instead, and Raleigh can see his grin when he gestures at the recruiter.

“This is who I was telling you about. He's says that if I can get dad to sign, I can join right after school and not have to wait until August. Wouldn't that be awesome?”

The girl makes a face, and Raleigh's pretty sure he's got a similar expression on his own. He remembers being that eager, that naïve, eager to prove himself to the world. The girl looks like she's got some sense in her, though, so Raleigh's hopeful that she'll talk the kid out of it, or that his dad will, because no one knows what they want to do with their lives when they're eighteen, much less if they want to sign away their lives to the military.

“I'd rather you did not join,” the girl says, and Raleigh's probably listening a little too closely, but he feels invested in the conversation now. In this kid, who the Army is going to eat alive and spit back out when they're done with him. “But if you must, then I suppose I will join as well.”

The flashback hits Raleigh like a bullet to the chest.

_He's standing in the kitchen, and he's happy, with his papers clutched tightly in one hand. He's definitely going, now, it's 100% sure, and Yancy's going to be home any second, and Raleigh wants to show him, more than anything else. He wants Yancy to be proud of him, because his GPA is pathetic and he doesn't have a job, and Yancy's been taking care of them for a year now and he just wants to make his brother smile for once._

_Then Yancy comes home and Raleigh blurts it out, a, “I joined the Army, Yance.” And his eyes are wide and the papers are crumpled in his hand and Yancy isn't saying anything, just standing there looking at him._

_And then Yancy says, “Oh, kiddo,” and pulls him into a hug and murmurs in his ear, “Why couldn't you have picked the Navy, huh? I like boats so much better.”_

_And Raleigh finds out, later, that Yancy's gone and joined too. Joined because he didn't want his kid brother going in all by himself. And in that moment, he's ecstatic, because Yancy's going with him and he won't have to leave his brother and everything is good._

His chest aches when he comes out of it, and it's a little hard to breathe, and he has to grip the edge of the table until his knuckles go white in order to makes sure his knees don't buckle. He hates that memory, hates it almost more than the one of Yancy dying, because this one, this one makes it clear just how much of his fault it all was.

He takes a deep breath. The two kids are still chatting, arguing, because the boy is telling her she's being stupid, and she's telling him that he's being the same. And Raleigh wants to tell them both that they're worth so much more, that they can do so much more than that, but the words lodge in his throat and all that comes out is, “Why do you want to join up?”

The kid, the guy, turns to look at him, and Raleigh doesn't think he's ever seen such a calculating look on someone so young. And he notices how the kid's shoulders square up, like he's getting ready for a fight, how he raises his chin a little in defiance of Raleigh's question, even though there wasn't any fight in it. The kid would probably make a good soldier, once they beat that hair-trigger reaction out of him, but Raleigh doesn't want to think about that.

“What's it to you?” the guy asks, and yeah, Raleigh remembers walking around with a chip on his shoulder, looking to start a fight because winning felt _good_.

“Just curious,” Raleigh says, calm and even. “Did two tours, myself.”

Two-thirds of the tension leaves the kid's body, and his friend fixes Raleigh with a hard look that Raleigh ignores, because he's not actually going to try to talk the kid into joining. He wants to give him the other side, all the things that happened that he remembers thinking would never happen to him.

The kid walks over, and his friend follows him. “It's something to do,” he says, shrugging. “Get out of this town. Do something useful. Figure if it was good enough for my dad, it's good enough for me.” He pauses. “What'd you get up to?”

“Sham Shield,” Raleigh answers, and the kid looks confused, but the recruiter behind him laughs. “Specialist two,” he clarifies. “Best rank in the entire force. Enough authority that things aren't boring, and not enough responsibility to get in trouble when things go to hell.” The kid looks contemplative, so Raleigh asks, “You not going ROTC?”

The girl pipes up before the ginger-haired kid can. “He has good grades. He should be going to school.”

Snorting, the kid shakes his head. “Why would I do that?” he asks. “Waste of time.”

“Having a marketable skill set for when you get out is a good idea,” Raleigh says. “Especially since you've got no idea how long you'll be in. What are your plans for afterward?”

The kid's mouth opens and closes a few times, but he doesn't say anything, so Raleigh continues. “You want to go into combat, don't you? If you're going in without a degree, that's basically your option. You'll get promoted a few times, sure, but with the number of people they're shipping overseas? And the conflict over there? You'll be lucky to make it two tours. Maybe three. And let me tell you, the stipend they give you when it's all said and done isn't worth the insomnia and the night terrors.”

Raleigh's voice is flat by the time he's done, but the girl is looking at him like he fucking hung the moon or something, so he figures it wasn't all bad. The kid, though, the kid looks pissed, ears a bright red and mouth set into a thin line. Raleigh's a little surprised that there isn't any steam coming out of his ears.

“PTSD comes with the territory,” the kid spits. “I know what I'm signing up for.”

The worst part is that the kid really thinks he does. He thinks he knows exactly what he's getting himself into, like what the recruiter's told him is gospel truth. Raleigh remembers being like that, too, self-assured and cocky and so goddamn eager to serve his country. Now, it all just leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Then you must be one hell of a masochist, kid,” Raleigh says, shaking his head as he starts to pack up, putting business cards back into boxes so that Tendo won't have as much to do, later. “More than me, anyway. No way in hell I'd do all of that again.”

“Then maybe you just weren't cut out for it,” the kid says immediately, and his words are meant to be biting, Raleigh realizes, but he just nods in agreement, making a noise in his throat.

“Yeah, maybe I wasn't,” he admits. “But you watch enough people die around you, and I think everyone gets to the point where they're just not cut out for it.” Which Raleigh knows isn't entirely true – he knows men who made it through to commanding positions, but at the expense of their sanity, humanity, and ability to sleep. Those guys, though, they went in with a half-broken soul to begin with, Raleigh thinks.

The kid still bristles, though, like Raleigh insulted him by telling him that he won't come back the same man he went in. “Not everyone deals with stress in the same way,” he argues, and the girl he's with all but throws up her hands before she walks away. Raleigh gets it. He's tried to convince too many kids their age that the military will fuck them up.

He snorts, picking up his bag and tossing it over his shoulder. “It's not stress, kid. It's fucking trauma. No one deals with that well. You know those vets that post the 'please be careful with your fireworks' signs in their front yards? It's not out of preference. It's because they're fucking triggering, and no one likes bringing themselves out of a flashback or a panic attack.” Pausing, Raleigh takes a deep breath, and then sighs. “If you like the way you are as a person right now, at all, don't join up, kid.”

He steps out past his table, and the kid doesn't follow, and Raleigh doesn't look back. He's _tired_ , suddenly, and he just wants to go home and crawl into bed and not think about one, two more kids ruining their lives because they don't know what the hell they're getting themselves into.

Raleigh's almost to the door when the guy calls out after him, “I'm not a kid,” in the same tone of voice someone would say “you're wrong” in. And he sounds so sure that Raleigh's the one who'll change his mind, see the light, and it'd be kind of funny if it didn't mean someone was going to get hurt.

He doesn't answer the kid, just keeps walking until he's out of the gym, because the worst part of all of this is that he is just a kid and doesn't know what the hell he's doing, and doesn't like listening to people older than him as a rule. Raleigh remembers all of that, being like that.

God, he wishes he'd listened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has a [Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/prisoner1102/playlist/6l9lAApZPJDfgDb5xYlXfQ). Check it out!


End file.
